


Now we are talking

by manisseta



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Awkwardness, Blood, Conversations, Drabble Collection, Gen, M/M, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-27
Updated: 2015-06-03
Packaged: 2018-03-26 00:59:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3831286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manisseta/pseuds/manisseta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You’re bleeding on the seat,” Bucky says.</p><p>And other delightful conversations with Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Small talk

**Author's Note:**

> This is going to be a series of Steve/Bucky mini fics based on [these prompts](http://tinytile.tumblr.com/post/117422561935/send-me-a-ship-and-one-of-these-and-ill-write-a). I liked them and I decided to do all of them.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: _things you said while we were driving_.

“You’re bleeding on the seat,” Bucky says. 

Steve doesn’t move, doesn’t even open his eyes, forehead slumped against the car window and ears blurring Bucky’s words with sprays of white noise. Bucky moves them around traffic fast and easy, a snake versus mastodons. Steve wonders idly if they’re still being followed, but probably not. Bucky wouldn’t be complaining about the state of the upholstery if they were.

“Yeah, well, I had an iron bar impaling my elbow just ten minutes ago,” he mutters at last and swallows a good gulp of nausea and pain.

“I’m not. I’m just saying. We’re gonna have to get rid of the car. We can’t just leave it around with your… blood all over it.” Bucky stops talking and the silence turns strange again, but it’s been a unilateral thing since they got into the car. Steve is too weak to participate in the tension, even though it’s wrapped around him. He kind of feels bad for Buck. Shared awkward silences are the one thing holding them together these days. “Hydrogen peroxide is good for cleaning out blood,” Bucky says then and this time, Steve opens his eyes and turns slowly to stare at him. 

“Good to know. You want us to clean up the car, then?” Bucky does something weird with his face, some sort of eye-roll that doesn’t quite commit. It’s both old and new, and funny, and Steve feels his own face grow softer.

“No. No way in hell. I was just saying,” and he shrugs. “Most people think it’s a complicated thing but taking out blood stains is very easy. A bit of cool water, hydrogen peroxide. Rinse. Scrub with enzyme soap if necessary and rinse again. It’s easy. I mean, unless you leave it to dry.” Bucky shakes his head, piercing the road ahead of him with judging eyes. “Then good luck to you,” he says and falls silent again.

Steve keeps looking at him, mind blank. His small talk is crushing, Nat had told Steve not long ago, eyes amused and affectionate. Well, at least he small talks to you, he had answered.

Now in the car he says, “Okay,” and adds “Ammonia works too.”

Bucky nods and makes it look solemn.

“Yeah. But it’s smelly. And more aggressive.”

“You can use a small dose. Dissolve it in water.”

“Hmm,” Bucky nods again while takes the next exit, heading New York. “We’re not cleaning up the car though,” he says once they’re in the highway again and suddenly there’s a smile on his face when he glances at Steve. It’s small and tired, a bit mean, both old and new and lovely, and the reason it takes Steve a moment too long before rolling his eyes and curling again up against the window.

“Yeah, yeah, you said,” he says and lets his eyelids drop.


	2. Pineapple

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “No, I know what a pineapple is, I’m asking what’s it doing on a pizza.”
> 
> Prompt: _things you said when you thought I was asleep_.

Steve blinks himself awake slowly, nose cold and hands warm, tucked under sofa cushions. There’s a wool blanket covering him from head to toe and it smells like every room at Sam’s, clean and lemony. On the coffee table in front of him there’s a picture of two little girls holding a cake bigger than their heads, happy birthday uncle Sam!!! written on bright green, lumpy letters all over the chocolate frosting. Steve smiles at the picture and then a voice beside him mutters, “What the hell is that?”

Steve blinks again, but Bucky keeps talking before he has time to react: 

“No, I know what a pineapple is, I’m asking what’s it doing on a pizza,” he says and Steve yawns and relaxes against the cushions. He can hear now the faint rumor of an answer coming out of a telephone. He doesn’t catch what the voice is saying, but it doesn’t seem to be very convincing. “No, look, kid, I don’t want to try it. For real. Yeah, yeah, you’re selling what you’re selling, but I ain’t buying. Alright, okay, thanks. Now, you got any of those chicken wings? Good. Yeah, that will do.”

Bucky orders more food, a Caesar salad and some fries and yeah, okay, we want the brownies too. Steve’s stomach grumbles with interest, but sleep is still heavy on his limbs and it drags him back to numbness. He dreams about the first time he tasted pineapple: Bucky’s mama had made an upside down cake to celebrate her husband’s promotion at the car garage and Steve ate up two pieces, his and Bucky’s, who watched him gobble them down with both delight and disgust. Bucky hated pineapple back there, too. 

***

He resurfaces again a bit later, when Sam gets home. 

“I ordered pizza,” Bucky says to him, “and chicken wings. Fries too.”

“Now that’s a nice welcome as I know it,” Sam answers cheerfully. “Thanks, man. Did he woke up at all?”

“Nope, sleeping like a log since we got here,” Sam makes an approving noise.

“Good. Aren’t you tired?”

“Was more hungry than tired,” Bucky says. He sounds distracted. “He’s gonna wake up hungry as a bear.”

“As ever, then,” Sam says easily. Steve hears him open the fridge, followed by the sound of bottles clanging and then being uncapped against the counter. “You okay, though?” Sam asks, low and serious. There’s a beat and then Bucky says:

“Yeah, I’m okay,” Steve can’t see Sam’s face, but he easily can picture his suspicious stare. He’s well acquainted with it. “I’m good,” Bucky insists, sounding annoyed, and then he fires back, “And you? Are you okay, Sam?” Sam just chuckles.

“Oh, I’m super. Thank you, that’s really nice of you to ask.”

Bucky doesn’t follow up to that and for a whole minute there’s only the sound of Sam avidly munching fries while Bucky gulps down a beer. The microwave beeps and seconds later the smell of melted cheese teases Steve’s nose, fills his mouth with saliva. He thinks about getting up and joining the party, but he feels glued to the couch. He’s been sweating in his sleep and he’s damp all over. He’s huddled in a humid, comfortable warmth that will probably turn disgusting if he moves and the fresh air touches his skin. He closes his eyes again and stays put.

Sam and Bucky keep talking.

“Nat is dropping by later,” Sam says through a mouthful, “I’ll save her some brownies before that hungry hungry hippo over there wakes up.”

“They wanted to put pineapple on my pizza,” Bucky mumbles, in the same indignant yet quiet tone he had used with the pizza guy. Sam gasps.

“ _Oh no_. You called the cops?” Steve smiles against his wrist.

“Just saying, pineapple on a pizza sounds like a terrible idea,” Bucky retorts, his voice mild, almost drowsy.

“Not my favorite, but I don’t mind it from time to time. It tastes sweet. And fresh, you know?” there’s silence again and Sam breaks it with a laugh. “Nah, I guess you don’t”.

“You should ask him.”

“Mmm. I already know. He’s much less prejudiced about pineapple than you.”

“No, I mean. You should ask him if he’s okay,” Bucky says.  


At first, Steve doesn’t react and after, he forces himself not to. He keeps breathing in an out, calm and deep as if he were truly asleep, rubbing his feet on the couch for effect, even though neither Bucky and Sam can see him from the kitchen.

“Have _you_ asked him if he’s okay?” Sam asks quietly.

“Just ask him,” Bucky answers brisk, angry, and Sam sighs.

“Yeah, maybe I will, maybe I won’t. It got kinda pointless when I kept coming up empty.”

“You keep asking _me_.”  


“Man, I’ve seen you like twice in three months. I don’t know you, not that well. I gotta be direct with you. With him, it’s another story. I already figured out there are other ways to be a good friend to him. If you wanna know if he’s okay, just ask him. I’m no errand boy, Barnes. Can’t be doing your job.”  


Steve keeps taking in soft, lazy breaths. He concentrates on the warmth on his back, between his legs, around his neck, the smell of sweat soaking up his clothes and lets the sensation cloud him away from the tension thickening up the air from the other room. 

“I’m gonna take that nap,” Bucky says at last, voice even.

“Yeah, go do that,” Sam replies. “Thanks for the pizza, by the way.”

Bucky doesn’t answer, or not in a way Steve can hear. Bucky’s footsteps climb down the stairs and purposely tromp down the floor towards the guest room. Sam sighs and mutters something under his breath, but Steve doesn’t catch it this time.


	3. Good memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Will you come with me or not?” Bucky asks. 
> 
> Prompt: _things you said at the kitchen table_.

“Will you come with me or not?” Bucky asks. Steve snorts while he spreads a good chunk of unsalted butter on the bread. When he’s done, he puts that slice together with the one coated in strawberry jam and sets the plate on the table, right in front of Bucky. 

“I’m not saying I’m not coming with you. I’m saying we shouldn’t go alone,” Bucky shakes his head. 

“No. No one else,” he says but he picks up the sandwich and takes a good bite. Steve sits down and watches him eat in silence, still trying to calibrate the situation. It’s not the first time Bucky has dropped by at dawn with a mission on his hands but usually he’s less casual about it, all business and piercing eyes while he lays down the details in front of Steve. He looks at ease now, eager and young, his lips full and glossy while he chews happily. But there’s still a mission on the table and Steve doesn’t know where they stand, so he pushes once again:

“It’s too risky going up there just by ourselves. You’re still a target. We both are.”

“Yes, but it’s even riskier if we bring the whole _damn_ team—”

“I’m not saying the _whole_ damn team—”

“Steve,” Bucky says, severe, “I don’t know if these people are still on Hydra’s radar, alright? And if they’re not, I don’t want to bring attention to them. And the Avengers bring attention. The Hulk brings attention, Thor brings attention, even Clint brings attention. And don’t get me started on Howard’s kid,” Steve rubs his eyelids with the pad of his fingers and nods in defeat. He looks out the window, already tinted orange as the sun beats the skyline inch by inch. He gets up and starts making coffee, using the good stuff Nat brought him from Colombia, which makes him think. 

“What about Sam and Nat?” he asks while he spoons the ground coffee inside the moka. Bucky gets up and goes by his side, grabs the bread and takes out four slices. “Sam is a good soldier,” he says thoughtfully, “but I don’t think he enjoys covert ops that much. Besides those wings aren’t exactly discreet,” he takes the knife Steve was using moments ago and starts smearing more butter on each slice. Then he adds, “Nat’s busy right now, I don’t want to bother her.”

“Shoulda known you’d asked her first,” Steve says with a smile, scooping some jam right out of the jar with his finger. 

“I would have asked you anyway. At least, for this,” Bucky meets his eyes. “I want you to come with me,” he says and goes back to making the sandwiches. 

Everything gets quiet for a moment, the air unusually light between them as the morning slips into the kitchen. Steve looks at Bucky until coffee starts bubbling out the filter and has to take it out the stove. He pours the hot liquid in two mugs and takes a deep breath; it smells wonderful, earthy, like a wet meadow. 

They get back to the table, Bucky already cramming the sandwich inside his mouth. Steve is hungry too but he can’t deal with that much sweetness so early in the morning. He drinks his coffee slowly, a burning bitter sip at a time, while Bucky keeps devouring one sandwich after the other. Watching him eat is a calming sight and Steve finds himself smiling slightly as his snack supplies get decimated. 

“What do you expect from these people, exactly?” he asks when Bucky starts on his fifth sandwich. “You said they’re the family of a doctor that treated you in the nineties?” Bucky nods and Steve swallows, lowers his eyes to the table. “What. What did he do to you?”

Bucky laughs sweetly. 

“Nothing, Steve. He did nothing to me. Well, I mean, he saved me,” Bucky leaves his sandwich aside and gulps down the coffee. Steam is still coming out of the mug but he doesn’t even wince. His eyes bear an estrange brightness when he looks again at Steve, that mellow smile still curving his lips, “It was a mission in Yugoslavia that got out of hand. During the war, you know? The Intel was not good and we fell right intro a trap. Half of my team died and the other almost did trying to get me out of there. I had like a dozen bullets all over me, I looked like a sieve.”

“Jesus, Buck.”

“I’m just giving you the visuals.”

“Thank you,” Bucky laughs again, a brisk little sound that bounces up and down the room. 

“The thing is, we didn’t have medical support. The whole country was upside down, I couldn’t move around with my fancy entourage. So basically they kidnapped the best surgeon they found and got him to save me,” his grin turns sour. “After, they. Um. They tried to _recruit_ him,” Bucky wrinkles his nose. “It didn’t go well.”

“Did they…?” Steve starts.

“Yeah, they killed him,” Bucky finishes for him. “But we had to rush out of there, so they didn’t take out the family too. So there’s that.”

“And now you found them,” Steve says awed and curious. Bucky nods and resumes his sandwich feast with a victorious bite. 

“Yeah. The wife and the daughter,” he says proudly. “They live in a little town in Ontario. I checked every SHIELD file and every Hydra file. Nat even hooked me up with some of her contacts in the Balkans and finally I got an address. They got out of the country when the war was still on. They didn’t know what happened with him, that’s why they weren't considered a problem,” he pauses a moment and stares at his plate, biting his lip. Steve turns his gaze away and drinks more coffee. “I remember him… yelling,” Bucky whispers then, eyes a bit wide, like he’s remembering right now. “I don’t know how or when exactly, but at some point he got what was going on with me and went bananas. Started telling them that he was going to report this to the International Court of Justice,” Bucky shakes his head at the ceiling, disbelieving. “Poor good soul.”

“He was very brave,” Steve mumbles. Suddenly he feels cold all over, except for the palms of his hands, still enveloped around the hot mug. Bucky grants him an agreeable nod. 

“Yeah. He also didn’t know who he was dealing with. But I’m not holding that against him,” Steve snorts and drinks up the last drops of his coffee. 

“So… what you want with his family?” he asks, staring at the sandwich Bucky made for him, still untouched. Bucky shrugs. 

“Nothing. Just. Knowing they’re okay. Making sure Hydra is not around them anymore. And well. I got the file on him. Explaining exactly what happened, with names, dates and everything. I want them to have it. The one that went out when Nat opened the gates didn’t tell half of the story. That whole mission was a complete mess. Hydra’s precious asset almost got killed and for nothing. The officers that got out with me tried to bullshit the report but the truth eventually got out. Though like many things related to me… It didn’t make it to the computers,” Bucky gives him a wry smile. “So the family still doesn’t know anything. Many people know now what happened to their parents, to their siblings, sons, daughters. They’re asking for justice at court. This family deserves that chance too.”

“You know. Many of these people. They’re asking your head on a plate,” Steve says slowly. Bucky shrugs again and Steve closes his eyes, “Buck—”

“They deserve to know what happened,” Bucky says, his tone resolute. 

“You think that’s better than not knowing?” Steve asks. Bucky tilts his head at him, frowning.

“Well, don’t you?”

“I do,” Steve says, because he does know, what a heavy weight uncertainty is. “But I don’t want you to get crushed just because you think you need atonement, or something,” Bucky rolls his eyes. 

“Fuck you, Steve, really” he mutters tiredly. “You don’t know what I need or what I don’t,” and then he lets out bitter laugh, like some just explained to him a terrible joke. “And I wonder what _you_ would do in my position, I really do,” Steve says nothing to this. He remains completely still, pinned under Bucky’s hard gaze. “Look, I won’t let myself get crushed, alright? Not again. When the time comes, I’ll deal with the rest. But now I need to do this. So are you coming with me or not?”

Now it’s Steve the one who laughs. Bucky keeps asking this question, as if he didn’t know the answer already, and Steve can’t even pick one out of the whole load he’s been gathering for months now. 

“Alright, I’ll come with you”, he says in the end, just for the sake of it. 

For a second, Bucky looks truly relieved. Then he puts on his best smirk and says, “Yeah, I know you would,” but he sounds kind. “Don’t worry. We might find some goons, but I’ve checked, the road is clear,” he his mug towards Steve as in a toast. “I bet Hydra doesn’t count on me chasing a good memory.”

“Good memory,” Steve echoes weakly. Bucky sighs and reaches to Steve’s sandwich, shreds a corner and shoves it into his mouth. 

“Well, compared with the rest… It’s as good as it gets.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These keep getting longer and longer. Less than 2,000 words counts as mini-fic, right? 
> 
> Thanks to everyone who subscribed!


	4. Watercolors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hey. It’s me. I’m at that place you didn’t want me to go, doing that thing you weren’t sure about. Though I guess you knew that already."
> 
> Based on prompts: _things you said over the phone_ \+ _things you said with too many miles between us_.

“Hey. It’s me. I’m at that place you didn’t want me to go, doing that thing you weren’t sure about. Though I guess you knew that already.

It’s ok. I'm in good company, you know that too. Nat says hello, by the way. She’s out to… I’m not really sure where she is. I’m just counting on her good soul to bring back beer. 

The thing… Weeeeell. It went okay, really. It’s just we expected better results. I’ll tell you everything when we get back. Just. Don’t worry, alright? Everything is fine. Nat checked us in a fancy place and all. Can’t give you much details, but the mini-bar has high-level stuff. A mini bottle of Chardonnay and a Rioja even. _Real fancy_. I really hope Nat doesn’t forget the beer, though, you won’t believe the price of these things. 

It’s really beautiful out here, actually. Postcard-beautiful. I might even bring one of those for you, you can put it on the fridge. I’ll bring one for Sam too. 

I was looking out the window before and I remembered you messing with watercolors when we were children. I remember a particular shade of green you used to get. It was bright but thick. And you always got it right somehow, even if you couldn’t tell apart red from green. You used to check on me to make sure but it wasn’t really necessary, you just had the knack for it. You could spot colors in the grayness. 

The landscape here is the same. So green it seems made-up, you know? It’s kinda mind-blowing. 

And I was staring at it and this idea came into my head. It’s… It feels mine, but also like I’ve robbed it. Well, maybe not robbed. Inherited might be the word. 

Memories are one thing. I mean, like, the actual images. They come back to me sort of… bubbling and I just have to deal with them, there’s no way around it. But getting a feeling or a thought from who I was before, it’s the weirdest thing. It’s like exchanging letters with a stranger… Only, I can’t write him back. I guess I’m not the only one who feels that way. People change, that’s what they say.  


The thing is, that child that helped you to clean up the pencils and such? That child used to think that no matter how much of a good artist you were or how beautiful was that green you made, a drawing or a painting just couldn’t make justice to the real thing. I mean, I was a kid. I got it along the way, how art isn’t about that. But yeah, I guess I used to pity you because you were stuck in this unwinnable battle against nature. No matter how much effort you’d put into it, how bright your colors would be, Prospect Park was always going to be more beautiful than that. And damn it, Steve, weren’t you in enough trouble already? Did you have go and defy Mother Nature as well? 

So, yeah, ten-year-old-me was a bit of a snobby asshole. But hey, I grew out of it, didn’t I? 

I explained this to Nat and she said ‘that’s adorable’. Actual words. Yeah, I can’t believe it either. 

So. That was it. Yeah, I called you to talk about watercolors. See? It’s not always about blood and revenge with me. Ha!

Well. Nice chat with your voicemail and all. Say hi to Sam. I’ll see you soon.”


	5. Magic yeast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So, what you’re saying is… They put some magic yeast in you and you rose like a dough?” 
> 
> Prompt: _things you said under the stars and in the grass_

“Wait a minute. Wait a minute. Let me get this right,” Bucky yanks Steve back down until he’s kneeling on the humid ground. Bucky closes his eyes and shakes his head. “Just, give me a minute,” he says again, quieter this time, and Steve nods and waits. 

They are still in Austrian territory but they are also armed to the teeth with both ordinary and Hydra weapons and a tank that Bucky’s pal Dugan has claimed to be _real_ nasty. The general consensus is that they can afford some rest, at least until dawn. 

The voices muttering through the impromptu camp soon start to go soft and the air gets sleepy. The night is cold but not overly so, and the crowd of soldiers has effectively conquered the forest, not only its soil but also its sounds and breaths: whispered words keep owls and crickets quiet, and the smell of dust, fire and death clogs the air. There is a strange and uncomfortable warmth all over the place and Steve prays for some sweet rain that washes it off. He feels sticky and sort of feverish, like the fire in the factory had reached his core instead of burning his skin. It doesn’t help that Bucky keeps staring at him, eyes hard and face half-covered by dramatic shadows. He looks dark and beautiful, the main figure in a Baroque masterpiece. Steve wants to look away and can’t bring himself to do it. 

Not far from them, some of the guys are sitting in a circle, silent, passing around a barely-there smoke. The man holding it now catches Steve’s eye, gives him a sympathetic smile and makes an inviting gesture, raising the smoke towards him. Jones, he’s called, one of Bucky’s men. Steve smiles back but shakes his head and that’s when Bucky talks: 

“You got something stronger than that, Gabe?”

“Sure, Sarge. Those Nazis let me in their own private stash so I could snatch some schnapps. Too bad they started to chase my ass off with that goddamn death ray just right after,” the guys laugh and even the hint of a smile ticks Bucky’s lips upwards.

“Alright, alright, just asking,” Bucky mutters tiredly and sweeps a hand over his face. “Could really use a drink.”

“The river is right there, help yourself,” Gabe teases, not unkindly, and Steve gets up.

“Gonna get you some water,” he says, firm, and this time Bucky doesn’t look up. 

“Yeah, alright.”

He sounds like his throat is knifing the sounds out of him. Steve hurries up, headed for the stream, carefully treading around exhausted soldiers and worn out boots. The men appointed to do the first watch salute him like he’s Someone, capital S, and Steve gives them a clumsy salute in return. He fills up the canteen and drinks it all in one gulp: the water is cold as ice and has a stony taste and just like that, Steve feels ten times sharper. By the time he gets back, Jones, Dugan and the other men have taken positions on the ground and some of them are snoring already. Bucky is just where he left him, back against a thin and naked birch and legs spread on wet leaves. He looks up at Steve in confusion, visibly exhausted, and he doesn’t make any movement at all when Steve opens the canteen and hands it over.

“C’mon, Buck. You need to drink, buddy.” Really slowly, Bucky takes the canteen with heavy hands and brings it to his mouth. Steve watches him and relaxes a bit when Bucky starts drinking for real. “Want some more?” Bucky slurps the last drop and waves him off. 

“No, I’m alright,” he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and then he gets quiet for a moment, expression thoughtful, reading himself to talk, so Steve takes a look around to make sure no one is paying them any attention. The moonlight provides a good view of the spread of sleeping soldiers and Steve feels something like tenderness surging inside him at the sound of steady breaths lulling the night. He looks back at Bucky and can’t help smiling at him. This time, Bucky grins back. 

“So,” he says in a low voice, “what you’re saying is… They put some magic yeast in you and you rose like a dough?” he asks, serious as he gets, and it catches Steve by surprise, he has to put a hand over his mouth to stifle a laugh that would have woken the whole camp. 

“ _Bucky_ ,” he says, shoulders shaking. 

“What? Ain’t that what you just told me?”

“Yeah, but you make it sound like I’m Cinderella’s pumpkin.”

“Nah, more like the real Cinderella to me, pal.”

“You moron. I'll let you know that it was a very sophisticated government experiment. Top-notch science. Top secret too.”

“Jesus Christ, listen to him, top secret government experiment. So it was top secret magic yeast, then?” Steve rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, top secret magic yeast. Not even Fleischmann’s knows about this one,” Bucky snorts. “They even put me in a top secret magic oven for a while.”

“You don’t say. How long?”

“Just ‘til I was golden brown. Just like cornbread,” that startles a laugh out of Bucky. Steve shushes him even if it causes no commotion at all. Dugan lets out a particularly loud snore that makes his bowling hat tremble, but he doesn’t wake up, no one does. Bucky grabs Steve’s forearm and at first he thinks he’s only trying to get his attention again, but the grip doesn’t yield: Bucky keeps digging his fingertips on that strong arm that still feels borrowed and it should be painful, it is, but Steve’s body is distracted, too preoccupied feeding blood to his now racing heart.

Bucky releases him and Steve lets out the breath his lungs were fiercely holding. Bucky looks up with bright eyes and he grabs Steve’s wrist this time, and with far less force. 

“Did they poke you with a toothpick to make sure you were well cooked?” he murmurs and Steve grins, still staring at Bucky’s fingers around his wrist. 

“No, but a Nazi agent did shoot me. Blood came out so they put me back for a few more minutes,” Bucky’s mocking smile freezes. 

“Fuckin’ hell, Steve,” he rasps. “That true?” Steve clears his throat, glancing back before answering. 

“The shooting, yes. They needn’t to put me back in the machine, though. I kinda… self-cook right now”. 

This seems to definitely throw Bucky out of balance, quite literally too. He groans and suddenly he’s dropping forward, forehead resting on Steve’s shoulder and arms coming around him. Steve hugs him back, hard, and Bucky sighs wetly against his neck. “God Almighty. Holy Mary. And Jesus Christ,” he mutters and it sounds both like an earnest blasphemy and an angry prayer. Steve chuckles, blinking back tears. 

“Alright, now that you said hello to all of them, why don’t you get some sleep?” he whispers and Bucky winces and hugs him harder instead. 

“Just… wait a minute,” he sounds breathless. "Gimme a minute,” he insists and Steve nods weakly. 

“Yeah, alright,” he says and doesn’t let go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much for updating on Mondays, huh? Some RL stuff + other fic stuff are getting in the way of this, but I'll try to update as often as possible. You're very welcome to subscribe and thanks to everyone who did already!


End file.
